


Seder

by samalander



Category: ST:AOS - Fandom
Genre: Celebrations, Eating, Family, Food, Jim's Brain is a funny place, Judaism, M/M, Seder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samalander/pseuds/samalander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For passover, they share a meal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seder

**Author's Note:**

> About a billion years ago in June 2009, I wrote a Chekov/Sulu fic called "[Sleeptalk](http://chekov-sulu.livejournal.com/26716.html)" where Chekov was Jewish. In the comments, people encouraged me to write a fic where the crew had a Seder, and now, two years later on Erev Pesach, I have something for you. (And sadly, it did not turn out to be "Jim Kirk and the Mandatory Four Glasses of Wine: A Cautionary Tale.")

_**FIC: Seder**_  
 **Title:** Seder  
 **Author:** [](http://users.livejournal.com/_samalander/profile)[**_samalander**](http://users.livejournal.com/_samalander/)  
 **Fandom:** ST:AOS  
 **Rating:** G  
 **Wordcount:** 1029  
 **Warnings:** Probably somewhat depressing, but ends happy.  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Kirk/McCoy, Ensemble  
 **Summary:** For passover, they share a meal.  
 **Notes:** About a billion years ago in June 2009, I wrote a Chekov/Sulu fic called "[Sleeptalk](http://chekov-sulu.livejournal.com/26716.html)" where Chekov was Jewish. In the comments, people encouraged me to write a fic where the crew had a Seder, and now, two years later on Erev Pesach, I have something for you. (And sadly, it did not turn out to be "Jim Kirk and the Mandatory Four Glasses of Wine: A Cautionary Tale.")  
 **Disclaimer:** Star Trek is property of people who are not me.

It's about stories, Jim thinks. It's about the telling.

They go around the table, each person reading their page in turn; the slavery of the Israelites in Egypt, the slaughter of the sons, the exodus. It's about remembering, it's about knowing where you come from.

He can’t help but think of his own story as Sulu reads his page, taking over from Uhura. He thinks about the losses, the loves, and the things that led him to this point.

Under the table, he takes Bones' hand. It's about knowing where you came from, from a farm in Iowa and a private practice in Macon. It's about knowing where you're going, it's about celebrating the things you find along the way, be it a partner, a truth, or ten commandments chiseled into stone.

It's about the journey, and where you started from.

It's about a shuttle ride, stinking of bourbon and vomit and blood, about banding together because no one else is in civilian clothes, it's about the Kobayashi Maru and long nights of drinking on Bones' daughter's birthday.

Chekov holds up the glass of synthehol, red and viscous, and dips the back of his fork into it. He makes dots on the plate, as he recites words in ancient Hebrew. _Dam. Tzefardeyah. Kinim. Arov. Dever._

Jim doesn't know the words, though the translation is in front of him. He substitutes his own plagues for the ones that God inflicted on the Egyptians. _Death of the father. Loss of the mother. Slavery in Iowa._ (He's proud of that one, proud how he can tie Frank into the themes of the night.) _Flight of the brother. Starvation on Tarsus._

He adds in _Divorce_ for Bones and a second dose of _Death of the father_. And maybe it's not ten plagues, but he thinks they're lucky to have escaped that many, to have gotten as far as they did with as many plagues as they carry between them.

It's Jim's turn to read, and he does his best to be respectful, to be reverent, and he thinks he might succeed because when Bones takes over on the next page, he doesn't even look mad.

Chekov looks up sadly from his _haggadah_ as the story concludes, glances around.

"There is," he says solemnly, "in some traditions, a fifth son. After we tell the story, we look for him, the son who cannot be with us because of the _Shoah_ , because the religion is dying, for many reasons. And for him we ask 'Why?'. And like the simple son, we have no answer."

A heavy air falls over the room, and Bones grips Jim's hand under the table. They're both thinking about their classmates who passed, Jim knows, the whole table is. But Jim is thinking about the others, too, the people who have died under his command for whose families they've had no answers. He is responsible for so much, he holds so many lives and without the six people around this table, he thinks, he might not be able to do it all. He might have broken down long before without Spock to ground him and Bones to rev him up, without Sulu and Chekov to get him where they're going, without Scotty to work the miracles in the engine room and without Uhura to explain why he does it. He owes them all something, and if he doesn't have answers for them, at least he has love.

He eats the bitter herbs and the sweet _charoset_ and thinks of the meaning of sweetness and bitters and the wonders he's seen, ushered in by Nero's genocide. How every bit is part of the whole, and he adds more horseradish, to mask the tears that prick his eyes.

Jim is no Moses, he knows that. He's no leader of a lost tribe, no shepherd of freedom. He's just Jim Kirk. He wasn't found in the reeds or raised by his enemies, he doesn't have a long-lost sister to bring him his true mother as a nursemaid. He's never talked to a burning bush, never struck a rock for water. He is no savior.

But he has a family, and they're wandering in the desert all the same.

Chekov takes the egg from the seder plate and cracks it on the table. He peels it with the same long fingers that guide them to safety daily, and passes the pieces he cuts off to his friends.

"A boiled egg is a sign of mourning. On every festive occasion, we remember to mourn for the destruction of the Temple and Jerusalem."

It's about the stories, and about where you come from. It's about remembering. Chekov dips his egg slice in salt water, and the others follow suit. "Salt for tears, and egg for sacrifice. Because freedom is more than the absence of bondage. Freedom is liberating yourself, and your universe, and the universes of others. Because we work to build every pyramid, and we sacrifice daily."

Jim spares a look at Bones, who has to be thinking of Joanna, but Bones is already looking at him. Jim smiles and mouths 'I love you' at his partner, who still manages, after this long, to look like that makes him angry.

Chekov and Spock have stood, and are sliding plates of food in front of them now, things that look confusing and smell wonderful, and Jim's brain supplies the word _gefilte fish_ from nowhere. It does that. Chekov leans in as he sets the plate down and whispers, "Captain, the _Afikomen_ is under your chair. As the patriarch, it is your job to hide it."

Jim laughs quietly and nods. Of course.

He glances around the table, at his crew. His family, where apparently he's the father and maybe Bones is the mother, but that's a game for the bedroom and not the Seder table. Spock isn’t eating, because vegetarian, and Sulu looks dubious about the minced cod in front of him, but Uhura and Scotty are tucking in with vigor and Bones is putting a first tentative bite in his mouth.

Why is this night different from all other nights?

Because on this night, he is contented.


End file.
